Tale As Old As Time
by The Cowgirl Bookworm
Summary: Some people say songs aren't true, that they are all lies. But even lies have a grain of truth to them. And this is a story of swords and spells, true love and romance. Take a look, and decide for yourself. SanSan. Beauty and the Beast retelling.
1. Chapter 1

Another story, child? I must get to bed sometime, but very well. Only one more, and then straight to bed. So what will it be? I could sing to you of Florian and Jonquil, or Jenny and the Prince of Dragonflies. But those are all songs. You're getting older, maybe you'd like something different. Something with swordfighting, and spells and true love. Well, then gather yourselves close to the fire, yes even you in the back. I will have to finish before your father gets back, he would make me start this over for him. So, hold on to your pets, your dolls and what have you.

For our story begins with a curse.

* * *

**AN: This is what happens when you watch the Beauty and Beast stage show, while reading Game of Thrones.**


	2. Chapter 2

Now, our story begins not long ago, on a night such as this. The wind was howling, the rain was pouring, and the smallfolk and lords alike were pressed close to their fires from the cold. An old woodswitch, travelling from the North, was making her way south when the storm hit. It was the worst the Westerlands had seen in years, and she hobbled as fast as she could to try and outpace it. She came to a keep just as the rain began.

"Please, my lord! I need shelter for but one night!" She called, rapping on the door with her withered hands. The door did not open, so she tried again. "I will give you a weirwood, the old gods will bless you for this!"

A window high above the door opened. The face that stuck out of it was large, the nose smashed and eyes bloodshot from drink. "Away with you witch. I have no room for ugly old hags."

"Please, Ser! Have you not a bit of mercy?" She called up.

"Are you deaf as well as ugly? Leave!" The window slammed shut with a bang. Lightning flashed and she could make out the keep's town, far below it. She hobbled there, slipping down the hill. The innkeep was kind enough to offer her a bed, hot food, and a fire to warm herself by. The next day the woodswitch left, making her way to the Isle of the Faces over the next few weeks. Her gods watched out for her, sending animals to bring her food and lead her to water. Once she reached the isle, she sat beneath the largest weirwood, letting the blood red leaves brush against her face.

**_You have returned to us, child._**

_I have, to ask for your blessing._

**_Ever the faithful one, and yet you grasp for things beyond your reach. What is it you would have us do?_**

_Remove this glamour from me, and let me return to the keep where I was sent away. Let me curse the man there, turn him into what he truly is, a beast. Let him learn not to judge on appearances._

**_You ask much, and presume much. Our powers are not strong in those southron lands. The new gods, the seven hold sway there. But we are still with you, take the sapling by the pool. It will allow our powers to stay by you, to speed you on your journey and curse this man._**

The woodwitch stood up, but no longer was she an ugly old woman. Instead, hair the color of tree bark flowed to her waist, and her eyes were as green as leaves. Soft, delicate hands dug in the dirt by the pool of the godswood, pulling up a sapling. The walk back to the Westerlands took no time at all, the familiar power of the old gods singing in her veins. It was like a song that was just out of reach, a vision just beyond her sight. It was powerful, strange, and she knew her gods were with her in each step she took.

Before long she was at the keep, which was a dark and lonely place. She dug a hole for the sapling, settling it down. She could feel its rots latching themselves down, seeking out the vein of magic that was just beyond mortals grasp. She brushed its leaves, and began her spell. She remembered the man in the keep, his cruelty and rudeness. She could feel the power in her, and she sent it to him. A great scream arose from the keep, turning more bestial with every moment. The door flung open, and she glimpsed the man.

A quick jolt of fear went through her.

This was not the man who had left her out in the storm. She could already see her spell taking affect, his hair lengthening and teeth turning to fangs, but nothing could hide the burns on half of his face. The man screamed again, falling to the floor as his hands changed to paws, his knees reversing themselves to support his weight. He truly was a beast now, screaming his pain. And then the scream became a howl, a roar. The woodswitch rose from the weirwood walking over to the mass of fur and flesh that quivered with pain as magic jolted through it.

"You are not him." She spoke slowly.

It took the beast a moment to speak around his fangs. "Of course I'm not. He died last week, I came to settle the keep. Why did you do this?"

"To show him what a monster he was." She settled herself down next to him, running her fingers through the coarse hair that now covered him. But nothing could hide those burns, they still covered half his face. "But I should have known better. I should have checked. I am sorry."

"Then change me back!" The beast roared, flinging himself upright. He tried to walk, but unused to his new form her staggered, then fell.

"I cannot." The woodswitch sighed. "But perhaps I can change the spell." She made her way over to the weirwood, feeling for the magic she knew was there. Sure enough, magic was knotted tight around the keep, but if she just pulled here, and tugged there, she could work in a new bit to the spell. "I acted in haste, but all know who you are Sandor Clegane. All know what you have done. So this will be your punishment. You are to live as a beast, no longer a man, until you can find one who will love you for who you are. For to love, and to be loved in return, is the greatest power of all, and it shall turn you human again. You have until this weirwood grows, until autumn comes and its leaves fall. If no one comes to love you by then, then you shall remain a beast, forever."

"But who could love me?" He rasped. "Why would anyone love me?"

But the witch was gone, and he roared his pain out to the world.


	3. Chapter 3

Lord Eddard Stark had been riding hard. It was not often the northern lord left Winterfell, but even lords had to come when the king requested it. He rode alone, his guards having been taken to be in the king's army. Ned shook his head. He had been friends with Robert Baratheon for a long time, but his plans to go to Essos and kill the last of the old Targaryen line was a fool's errand. It was only because of their friendship that he had kept his head. He had decided to return through the Westerlands, hoping for better weather and less bandits than what plagued the Kingsroad. But the Westerlands were covered by a gray sky, a continuos downpour chilling him to the bone. He wasn't even sure of where he was going anymore, letting his horse pick its way through the land. Finally, the beast stopped, flicking its ears back and forth.

Eddard looked up to see a keep rising over him.

The walls were bare, gray as ash and unwelcoming. Myrish glass windows showed the yellow light of candles, but no servant or lord came forward to greet him. He slid off the horse, sinking up to his ankles in mud. The was a rasp of a door opening, and he noticed a stable. He settled the horse in it, noting the massive black horse that was the only other occupant. Once the horse had been fed and watered, he approached the keep. He raised a hand to knock on the door, but it swung open on silent hinges. A fire was roaring between two motheaten yellow banners, a table containing a large pot of stew sat in front of it. Bread and salt were nearby.

"I thank you." He called out. He knew well enough not to tempt whatever had saved him. He removed his cloak, laying it out by the fire. He got himself a bowl of stew, a loaf of bread, and thanked the old gods for the food. It was thick, meaty, the bread heavy and fresh from the oven. When it was finished, he felt a little tug on him. It was like a breeze, something that wrapped itself around his hand and pulled him along. He followed it, curious as to what exactly was in this keep. The breeze took him through a door, to an godswood. He looked up and was shocked to see a bright blue sky, the rain gone. He expected birds to be singing, little creatures to make their way through the wood, but everything was silent. Eddard settled himself before the weirwood, a new one, and let his thoughts wander.

As usual, they went to his family.

Beautiful Cat, waiting and praying for him in her sept. Bran and Rickon, running around the castle and generally getting in everyone's way. Jon and Arya, usually training out in the yard. And Sansa, perfecting her womanly arts of courtesy, dancing, and weaving. All had asked for something when he had been summoned to King's Landing. Bran and Rickon both wanted toys from the Royal Toymaker. Arya had wanted a wooden sword, Jon an actual one. Sansa had smiled when he asked her what she wanted.

_"Oh, father. I have everything I could want here. But, I have heard that the roses down south bloom in a shade of red so dark it is like blood. The blue winter roses are wonderful, but a red rose sounds so beautiful."_

All their gifts now lay abandoned in King's Landing, left by him when he fled. He could not bring Bran and Rickon their wooden knights and horses, nor Jon and Arya their swords. Even Sansa's rose, a gift from a Tyrell friend, lay in the city. He opened his eyes, glancing around the garden. He noticed a rosebush, blossoms heavy and ready to be plucked. Surely one rose would not be missed? It was such a small thing, but Sansa would love it. The rose had just been picked when he heard a massive roar from the keep. Byt the time he had turned around, the beast was on him. He could only see a few pieces of it. Gray, slitted eyes. Fangs that peeked out, sharp as a dagger. Hair as dark as a shadow, constantly moving and changing. Burn scars, twisting their way across the mockery of a face the beast had.

Claws dug into his shirt, pricking his skin. "You dare to steal from me?" The voice was more of a roar.

"Please, my lord I meant to offense!" Ned gasped, trying to push the claws away.

"I am no lord, but you have taken a rose!" The beast snapped its jaws close to his face. "No one steals from me, no one!"

"Please, it was for my daughter." He replied, feeling the beast's claws loosen slightly.

The gray eyes glittered for a moment. "A daughter?"

"Yes."

The claws left him, and the beast paced, his tail switching back and forth. "I was going to kill you. But, I will offer you this. Send this daughter to me, and I will not. You have a week. Send her here, and your family will prosper."

"I cannot." Ned stated. "You would kill her."

The beast turned, claws raking air. "I will not. I may be a beast, but I do not lie. She will be cared for, that I swear. If she does not come in a week, then I will find you and kill you." He walked away. "Take my horse from the stable. He will lead you home."

Ned was left watching the beast disappear into the keep. The wind tugged at him, pulling him to the stables. The black horse stood, saddled and ready. Its saddlebags bulged with goods, but Ned didn't want to look. The wind shifted, pushing him up onto the horse. He didn't even need to guide the horse, it set off immediately. A road appeared before him, the distance shortening itself, and by nightfall he was outside Winterfell. Bells began to ring, calling out his return. When he held his family close in an embrace, he wanted to cry.


	4. Chapter 4

Ned dragged his feet as his family fluttered around him. All wanted to hear of the capital, of what was in the saddlebags to make them so heavy. He gave them vague answers, more focused on warming himself by the fire. Bran was speaking about how the horse he had ridden back had bit a groom before they could get it into a stall. The children's direwolfs gathered around the fire as they settled in, all anxious to see what he had brought them from the south.

Cat gasped as he withdrew gowns, one in the Stark colors of gray and white, one in Tully blue and red. They were gorgeous, the silk new and encrusted with pearls, rubies, and sapphires. Jewelry was wrapped inside each one, enough to see their family and possibly their town through winter if need be. She let the silk run through her hands. "Ned, these must have cost a fortune. Why did you get them? Where did you get them?"

He could not answer.

Bran and Rickon laughed as they played with the painted horses and knights that he drew out, the direwolfs watching as they made them fight on the hearth. Robb was pleased with the dagger he handed him, admiring the shining steel and gold work around the handle. Jon and Arya both received practice swords, which they immediately set to using. Nymeria and Ghost joined them, wrestling around with playful snaps and growls. Ned's fingers closed around the last item. He withdrew a small box, inlaid with yellow enamel. Three leaping black dogs were inlaid on the lid, and he handed it to Sansa. She opened it, withdrawing the blossom within. It was a beautiful rose, petals soft as down and red as blood. Small seeds plopped through her hands as she ran her fingers through them.

"It's beautiful, Father. Thank you."

Ned watched his family, and he wanted to cry.

The next morning, after a passionate night, his wife finally got him to speak of his distress. He spoke slowly, unsure of himself and what he was saying. Catelyn listened, and spoke after he was done. "You have to tell her Ned, you can't just leave. She should know. The whole family should know. Why does it have to be either of you? Can't we just leave for a while, then come back?"

"Cat," He cupped her cheek. "I cannot let her suffer for my mistake. As for leaving, this beast is not a natural one. I felt something around him, magic that I thought died a long time ago. If we leave, he would find us and his anger would be all that greater."

"He will kill you."

"I will fight."

A hesitant voice broke in. "Father, is everything alright?" Sansa, his beautiful daughter stood there. Ned smiled sadly, brushing his fingers through her hair. She was so kind, so merciful, he would hate to have to leave her to face this world without him. Winter was coming, but autumn before that. And autumn was almost worst, the trepidation that came each morning, looking out to see if the world was covered in white. The anxiety at having to do the same the next day. And after that came winter, and while Winterfell's granaries were full, he still knew people would starve.

"Ned, tell her. We still have a few days. Let her make the choice." Cat urged from behind him.

He could see the worry cross his daughter's face. He explained what had happened, watching his daughter's face. "You don't believe me, but Sansa you must. The beast gave me a week, and at the end he will come to kill me. I have half a mind to send you, your mother, and the rest of the family away while I face him." He watched his daughter, searching his face for any sign that he was lying. Finally, she nodded her head, turned and left, her direwolf Lady following her.

The next few days were absolute torture for him. He hugged his children as much as he could, whispering his love. Sansa he saw often, walking from the sept to the godswood, then up to her room and back. Arya was training with Brienne in the yard, the big woman hammering away at the little one. Ned smiled, remembering their septa's outrage when he had decided to let his daughter pursue what she wanted. The septa had sputtered with indignity while Arya had jumped into his arms, thanking him over and over. She had promise, but she was reckless. _If the beast comes here, she will try to fight him. She will be killed._ He shook the thought out of his head, even though there were only a few days left until the deadline. Ned woke up the next day though, to find a letter by his bedside. He knew what it said before he even opened it.

_Father, Mother,_

_I have thought and prayed long over this decision. If what you have told me is true, than I cannot let you be killed if I can prevent it. Life in the North is hard enough, and the smallfolk will need their lord when winter comes. Tell the others that I have gone to visit the capital, or some other story. Tell Bran and Rickon about the knights that protect all the maidens in King's Landing. Do not let them worry. I do not want you to worry either. I have brought Lady with me. She will protect me from this beast._

_Mother, please do not send Brienne after me. I know she is your friend, your sworn shield, but this is something that I must do. I am a woman now, I must begin to take my place in this world. Tell Robb that I am safe and fine. I don't want an army chasing after me. You said this beast would not lie, so I shall be safe._

_I know you may not see my decision as a wise one. But when I prayed I thought of the Tully words. Family, duty, honor. I cannot let my family be destroyed if I can help it. It is my duty to take your place. And hopefully, I shall be remembered with honor for my sacrifice._

_Please, do not be angry. It is my choice, and I will hold myself to it._

_I will miss you every moment of every day, and my family will always be in my heart._

_Sansa_


	5. Chapter 5

The horse hadn't been to accepting when she went to saddle it in the middle of the night. It took a few precious apples, a rare commodity in the North, and some snarls from Lady before the beast calmed enough that she could climb atop it. Lady followed behind the horse, constantly lifting her head and sniffing at the breeze. The horse needed no prodding from Sansa, it immediately broke into a trot, moving faster as it raced through the town. She wanted to bury her head down, just to stop the wind, but she could not. For all around her was the forest, whipping by faster than she had ever seen before. Lady ran beside them, and it seemed every footstep seemed to cover a league. She could hear roars, bears and lions in the forest running from the horse or Lady she was not sure.

The horse slowed, climbing a small hill to a lonely keep. Lights were on, but it leant no comfort to the place. It felt cold, lonely beyond any place she had known. The horse stopped in the courtyard, and she could feel a breeze tugging her off the horse. When she would try and explain it later, it was like the wind had grown hands, pulling and prodding her until she stepped down from the horse. The courser shook his head, trotting away to a stable door that opened, then closed on its own. Lady gave a little whine as Sansa stepped towards the massive door of the keep.

"It's alright." Sansa whispered. "Come here." The direwolf came forward, and Sansa kept her hand on the wolf's shoulder as the doors opened. She stepped inside, unsure of what she would find. The doors opened to a massive hall. The only light came from a fireplace, logs weakly burning against the dark. She could see trestle tables that ran partway down the hall. Groups of chairs were gathered around smaller tables lent the place a slight coziness. She could hear the breeze more than she could feel it, rushing from one side of the hall to the other.

She turned when she heard the click of claws on stone.

Her first thought was that it was Lady, but the direwolf had stopped in her tracks. What approached them was something that belonged in Old Nan's stories, or the septon's sermons about the demons that haunted the seven hells. Old Nan had liked to speak of beasts from beyond the Wall, but not even she had heard of this. It walked on two feet, almost like a man, but the feet ended in massive claws. Bowed out legs supported a body, more wolf than man. She looked up, trying to find the beast's face. The slit gray eyes watched her, half of the face a mass of tangled burns.

She dropped her gaze.

"You've come." He spoke, his voice a deep rumbled that by all rights should have shaken the foundation of the keep itself.

"Ser, please. My father meant no disrespect to you. He is an honorable man." It took her a moment to find her voice, but she spoke calmly.

The beast snorted. "I am no Ser. Call me Beast, Hound. But never Ser."

"Beast," She tried, the word sounding foreign on her tongue. "I have come as you asked. Please, let me go."

"Follow," he grunted, snatching up a candlestick from a table. It rested awkwardly in his paw. "The agreement was that you will not leave. Never in your life will you leave my keep. You will stay, your presence here seals that deal."

"You threatened to kill my father!" Sansa cried, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

The beast turned. "Aye, I did! And look what your lordly father did, sent you in his place to save his own skin."

She shook at the deep, guttural roar that emanated from his throat. Lady nudged her hand, snapping at the beast when he reached forward. "He didn't send me, I came on my own."

The slate gray eyes blinked. "Then you're braver than most men I've met."

"I love my family." She stated. "I wouldn't let them live without him, I love them all so much."

The beast didn't respond, but she thought she could see a different set to the black haired shoulder as he led her onward. He walked onward, and Sansa kept her eyes lowered. The beast wore a mockery of clothing. He wore no shirt, nor boots, nor cloak. All he wore was a pair of breeches that had split around the contorted muscles, hair peeking through rips. He stopped outside a door. He did not open it with a paw, merely kicking it in.

The room was dark, but when he set the candle down she could see that it was decent sort of place. She could see a door to a small solar off to the side, a bed with tattered hangings took up the most space though. An old battered mirror stood on a desk, the polished bronze reflecting the light weakly. Beast gestured to the room. "This is your room. The whole of the keep will be open to you, except the godswood." He turned to the room. "If you desire anything, speak it aloud. Servants will attend you, even if you can't see them. Hell, I think there's even a maester running around here somewhere."

He pushed Sansa into the room, then slammed the door closed.

She heard a lock being drawn.

Sansa's hands shook as she grasped the candle, walking around the room. There were more candles in the room, which she lit as she found them. A fire was kindled in the small fireplace against one of the walls, a breeze shuffling by. "Wait!"

The breeze paused. It fluttered anxiously.

"Can you talk?"

The breeze shook, lifting her hair. Apparently, it could not.

"Thank you, if I need anything I will call." She told it. The breeze almost seemed to dance, lifting her hair before it disappeared right through a wall. She turned her gaze to the room. The bed's hangings were motheaten and ripped, but the bedding itself was clean and pressed. She sat on it, turning her gaze from the fire, to the overstuffed chair by the desk, and finally to Lady who had pressed her head into her hands.

She wept.


	6. Chapter 6

The servants gathered around the fire in the main hall. They could not see each other, but there were little bits that betrayed who was by them. Bessie, the cook, always brought the smell of bread in and Maester Yeryn was always accompanied by the slight clinking of his invisable chain. Being incorporeal had its benefits. Walls weren't a problem, and they didn't have to deal with any of the nasty bits of their bodies anymore. Only the master used the chamber pot now, if he used it at all. The servants had gathered to speak, in their own strange way, of the girl that had come.

"Why are you all standing around?" A growl came from the darkness. The servants backed away, Bessie vacating the chair she had occupied. The master had been around long enough that he could easily determine what they were doing. One of the serving girls darted away, returning with the sour red wine that the master enjoyed so much. The cork was popped out, the skin handed over, and quickly poured down his throat. The maester came forward, letting his breeze blow across his master.

The master blinked. "The girl? You can see her tomorrow. Right now, all I want is drink."

Bessie bounced around, happy. He growled from his chair. "You don't know that she'll be the one. She couldn't even look at me." Bessie chattered back, the smell of bread wafting over to him. "Hope? I haven't had hope in a long time." The servants fluttered about, but he dismissed them. Vague memories swirled around his mind. Some were of family he once had, a smiling dark haired sister and a glowering brother. His own name almost came to his lips.

He dug his own claws into his leg. "I deserve no name. I am a beast. A Hound." With that he threw the empty skin into the flames, taking to wandering the castle as he usually did during the night. Once, he had tried to go beyond the Keep. He had set a foot out from beyond the walls when he felt fire burning him, wrapping up his legs and licking towards his face. He had roared and stumbled back, unwilling to try again. This time though, he went to the godswood. After that blasted lord had found his way out, he had directed the servants to install a large iron bar across it. Only he could lift it, slide it out of the way, and enter the wood.

The tree stared at him, red sap running like tears. His claws flexed, remembering carving that face. _Sire, weirwoods have always had faces. Perhaps the old gods will see it and take away the curse. _The maester's written words still whispered in his ear. He leaned over and picked with a claw at the mouth, adding a little more detail to the lips. If the old gods had taken notice, they hadn't helped. He flopped down before the tree, curling his tail around himself. More often than not, this was where he slept.

He drifted off, twitching as he imagined battles in his mind. His dream self dug claws into throats, ripped flesh with his fangs, roared out his victory as he was covered the the blood of his enemies. Something changed through, the hair on his neck rising. He blinked his eyes open, unsure of what was wrong. When he saw what it was, his lips rose and a roar ripped from his throat.

The girl scrambled backward from where she had been, caressing the leaved of the weirwood. It was difficult to tell where the weirwood ended and her hair began. The auburn was blowing about her shoulders, mingling with the leaves. Her face paled, her mouth drew together in 'o' of surprise. "I-I am so sorry. But I saw your godswood, and it is so beautiful. And I thought to worship just for a moment."

He roared, unsure of his voice at the moment. It finally came back to him. "Leave! I told you it was forbidden!"

"Why is my worship forbidden?" The girl's face screwed together, and she planted her feet.

"It-it, it is!" He retorted. He brought a paw up, thinking to hit her for her disobedience. She quailed beneath him, and he froze. What was he doing? Hit her? Was he Gregor now? He let his paw drop, instead turning back to watch the weirwood. "Just leave."

Sansa watched him settle down into the dirt. His shoulders were slumped, and she watched his tail drag through the dust. Lady growled from behind her, stepping towards him. Sansa waved her off. The godswood was beautiful, flowers and plants of all kinds blooming. But something was wrong. It took her a moment to put her finger on it, but she finally figured it out. "It's quiet. There's no birds."

Beast grunted from his place before the tree. "You're still here? Hmph, birds haven't been around for a long time little one. But you're chirping enough, aren't you little bird?" His voice was bitter, but he stood as she watched. "Go along now. Back to your room."

She looked up at the dark figure. "Is there anywhere else?"

The beast shrugged as he turned away. She snorted and turned around, walking back in. The keep was dirty, and for a moment she thought she might clean it herself. But then she dismissed the thought. By the time she finished, she'd have to go back and start all over. So she walked up the stairs, wandering the halls. One door yielded, squealing in protest as she pushed on it. Lady ran in before her, paws stirring up dust. Sansa followed her in. What she saw was beautiful.

It was a loom, elegant and practical at the same time. Skeins of wool in every shade of the rainbow were scattered around, wool in basket for carding, a spinning wheel ready for it to be spun. When she opened a chest, she found an embroidery frame and silk thread in all sorts of colors. Sansa picked up a skein, running the gray wool through her fingers. It was smooth, well spun.

A grunt drew her attention. "You found it." The beast stood there, massive in the frame of the door. "I wondered how long it would take you."

Sansa looked up from the wool. "Let me guess, this is forbidden to me as well?"

A rasping cough that sent shivers up her spine sounded. It took her a moment to realize he was laughing. "No little bird. Do as you like here. There's not much in way of comfort here, but if you feel like it, you can try."


	7. Chapter 7

Sansa spent all her time at the loom. She weaved fabric, sturdy wool to turn into blankets and dresses. Those were all in darker colors, grays and blacks. Colors that didn't require much. She looked down at the basket by her feet. Lady lay nearby, waging her tail happily. The direwolf had taken to the keep well enough, and Sansa knew not to worry if she wandered off. One day, as she was sewing a dress, the beast entered. She didn't speak, and neither did he.

She could feel his eyes though, watching her as she hemmed the dress. They were both feral and more human than any eyes she had seen before. There was a wildness behind them, an animals spirit that threatened to overwhelm him, but ever since that day in the godswood he had never raised a hand against her. As she sewed, she finally spoke. "Do you always sleep there?"

He grunted, replying after a moment. "I have a bed, but it doesn't get much use."

"A bed?"

"Aye little bird, and I used to sleep in it often. Just like I used to have finger, and toes. Back when the only hair I had was on my head and my jaw."

Her sewing dropped into her lap. "You were human once?" The beast gave her a long look, but he didn't answer. He just stood, and left. Sansa watched him go. Sometimes he would let little bits of his history drop like that, a tantalizing crumb that made her want to know more. But more often than not, the crumb did nothing to distract her from the ache in her heart. She wanted her father, her mother. She wanted to see Arya chasing Jon down so that they could practice, Rickon rolling around with Shaggydog.

She hadn't figured out exactly how long she had been gone. A month? Maybe more? All she knew was that the sun rose each day, the servants were kind enough to bring her anything she asked for, and the beast made no move to either harm or help her. The ache for her family was strong, stronger than the sense of duty that she had. It was her duty, apparently, to stay in the keep.

But family was more important.

So, one dark night, she drew on her cloak and stole from her room, Lady by her side. The castle was dark, quiet. None of the servants blew by, and she tried to step lightly against the stones beneath her feet. She finally reached the door of the Great Hall, and pushed it open. It squeaked slightly, but after a second in which she froze, it opened the rest of the way. The summer days were getting shorter, just by a bit, but still the weather stayed clear. She ran from the courtyard, out past the gates into the wilderness.

She had seen lights from one of the windows, there must be a town somewhere nearby. But the forest, it suddenly seemed so thick. Branches grasped at her cloak, tugging at her when she tried to run. The clear path that had led to Winterfell was long gone, now she stumbled through bushes and trees. She wanted to cry, she wanted to sit down and cry. But she thought of her father, her brothers, even little Arya who liked to store her knives with her needles. Lady stayed by her side, a solid presence. She could do this, she could find her way out.

Lady growled.

Sansa gasped when she heard a sound carried over on the wind. Hooves, tack jingling through the wood. _It can't be the beast, the Hound couldn't have more in a party than himself. The servants can't ride. _Sansa kept these thoughts in her head, running farther into the forest. But the noise grew louder, sounding as if it was coming from all around her. She scrambled to a stop as a horse appeared through the leaves. Its rider wore a set of mismatched armor, his clothing patched. His horse wasn't much better, blowing hard and skinny.

The three other riders that circled her weren't in any better condition.

"Awfully late for a lady to be in the forest." One of them slurred. "Lose your hawk?"

"Please, sers. I am just trying to return home." Sansa curtsied to them, placing a hand on Lady. "I would thank you to let me be on my way."

The rider to her left laughed. "Bit late for that. But its just the right time for," he dismounted. "Other things." Lady growled and moved at him. But she couldn't be in four places at once, and one of the riders grabbed Sansa's hand, drawing her toward him. She slapped him, letting her nails dig into his cheek. She felt the blow before she knew he was going to hit her, a stinging blow across her cheek that sent her to the floor. Lady was on him in an instant, tearing at him. The other three laughed as he shoved the wolf off with difficulty, cuffing her head. Lady slunk off, disappearing into the forest. Sansa called after her, but one of the men covered her mouth with his hand. The other two pawed at her, tearing her cloak from her and grabbing at her bodice. One sat away, nursing his cheek. She tried to squirm away as a hand pulled at her skirts, crying when she felt a cold breeze hitting her legs.

A deep growl split the air.

"Let her go, now." A familiar voice rent the air, a growl accompanying it. Lady stood next to a dark horse, an even darker figure atop it.

A man laughed. "Or what, you won't kill us?"

A coughing growl sounded, a laugh. "No, you're all dead. But if you let her go, I'll make it quick."

"Let's see what you do against this." A man drew his sword, running at the beast. He was off the horse in an instant, claws shredding through flesh. The man fell dead, his sword falling from his grasp. The one holding her went next, and she felt the warm blood spray acoss her face as he fell. It was a simple matter for the beast to kill the another, until only the one who had hit her was left. He held a knife in his hand, and when the beast moved forward he slashed. The beast grunted, favoring one hand but was still able to hook his claws through the man's chin, pulling it up to expose his throat. He dropped the body and turned to Sansa.

"You left." It was a statement.

Sansa hugged herself. "I was scared, I wanted my family." She looked at the way he covered part of his arm with a paw. "You're hurt?"

"Not really." He mounted up on his black horse, pulling her up in front of him. She was suddenly aware of how large his chest was, and she could feel his heartbeat through the thick coat of hair he had. In a few minutes they were back at the keep, and the horse led himself back to the stable. The beast led her inside, sitting down by the fire. She knew he was hurt, and she gathered a few piece of cloth that had been left on the table, along with a pot and a flagon of wine. She set the pot over the fire, filled it with wine, and let it heat up. She moved over to the beast, kneeling by his chair.

He didn't respond as she drew his paw away, dabbing at the wound. It wasn't deep, but it bled quite a bit. It was only when she dabbed the wine on it that he roared. She jerked back, scrunching her eyes shut. "That hurts!"

She grabbed at his arm, holding the wine soaked cloth over it. "It will make it better." He roared more before he finally let it go. She wrapped a fresh cloth around it as a bandage, then stood.

He looked at her as she gathered up the blood soaked cloths, the empty flagon dangling from her fingers. "I was going to drink that."


End file.
